


Consultation

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-24
Updated: 2009-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time for secret service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consultation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [](http://xf-pornbattle.livejournal.com/profile)[**xf_pornbattle**](http://xf-pornbattle.livejournal.com/).

She walks the long hallway to his office, lush red carpeting giving under her three-inch heels. She's allowed to come and go as she pleases in the White House. Not many people can say that.

She enters the room and closes the door. Barack is sitting at his oversized desk, impeccibly organized despite having the affairs of the world spread across it. The drapes are closed, which is a good move on his part.

He watches, amused, as she strides over to him. She knows she looks good--black suit/short skirt, heels, her red hair glossy and straight past her shoulders. He likes her like this.

She perches on the edge of his desk, a shoe dangling from her toe. His gaze is intent, their eyes locked. She pulls her hair behind her ear.

"You called for secret service?" she murmurs, arching an eyebrow.

He slides a firm hand down her calf, taking her shoe off and placing it in the middle of his desk. Same with the other. His hand travels up her leg to her inner thigh, just under her skirt. She shivers.

"I issued an executive order," he says, his voice a lush baritone, his fingers curling under the lace of her thigh-high stockings.

After he'd been elected, she'd been called in as a consultant on the application of interthecal stem cells in pediatric patients. He'd met with her, commended her on her work with Christian Fearon.

They'd fucked in the Lincoln bedroom that night, on the carpet, not the bed. He didn't want to break it. She's convinced they would have.

This was one of her "consulting" visits, or so she told Mulder. Part of her felt bad, but it wasn't strong enough to convince her ego to stop fucking the young, attractive leader of the free world.

Barack drags each stocking down her leg, then begins kissing her bare skin, ever closer to the line of her skirt. She spreads her legs, shifting on the table. She moans when his hand slides up her skirt to grasp her hip.

His lips greet the inside of her knee and he looks up at her. The intensity of his gaze makes her quiver.

"I'm going to eat you raw," he says.

"Jesus," she whispers. She presses her hands against the desk so he can push her skirt up past her hips. She's throbbing hard as his mouth moves on her inner thighs. He doesn't stop watching her.

Her thong is easy to push aside and his tongue slides through her roughly, quickly. We're always on borrowed time, she thinks. It's good he makes me come so fast.

He's soon voraciously lapping and sucking at her pussy and she grips his head, leaning back on one hand. He growls his approval against her when she starts to whimper rhythmically, telling him she's already close. She's nearly ashamed at how quickly this happens.

He tongues her clit and she comes hard against his mouth, wanting to cry out, knowing she can't. Shockwaves pass through her body. She braces herself as he rises and yanks her off the desk by her thighs. He loves to start fucking her while she's still twitching.

He turns her around and pushes her down on the desk. She looks around the round walls of his office and presses her cheek against a pile of papers.

He enters her to the hilt and she bites her lip to keep from crying out. "That's it," he growls, one hand tangling in her hair.

"Fuck me," she hisses through her teeth. He makes her remember how she likes to be used. She squeezes him and he starts thrusting harder, grinding her hips into the desk.

"I've got cock you can believe in," he pants between thrusts.

"I want to believe," she breathes with a tiny smile.

She wonders how long he could really last if they weren't in a hurry. If they could get a hotel room together for a weekend and let it all go. But this is as close as they'll ever get to that, so they can get back to their obligations with the least suspicion possible.

His fingers grip her as he comes hard inside her with a restrained, deep groan and a final rough thrust. They breathe in their final, stolen moments and then he steps away and clears his throat.

She stands up and adjusts herself, tugging down her skirt. She calms her hair with shaking fingers. They share a smile.

"Thank you, Dr. Scully," he says. "You truly are the Ambassador of Sexy Times."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

They shake hands firmly.


End file.
